


At the End of the Road

by anslin



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Corvo Bianco, F/M, Retirement, Secret Santa, fluff-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 09:48:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anslin/pseuds/anslin
Summary: First Yule at Corvo Bianco





	At the End of the Road

**Author's Note:**

> This is a secret santa gift for geraltsbeard on tumblr. Merry Christmas/happy holidays!

Snow fell quietly over the rolling hills of Toussaint, blanketing the mottled brown of grapevines covered in canvas bags, drifting silently over the orange of fallen leaves like a burial shroud. The sun, hovering just above the horizon, refracted in the ice crystals that hung in the air, making brilliant, multi-colored hues out of the last light of day. In the distance, the torchlit windows of Beauclair flickered, strewn like tiny stars over the frozen landscape.

It was the type of beauty minstrels sung about in songs. Geralt didn’t bother giving it a second glance, his eyes fixed instead on the woman before him.

His favourite time to watch her was just before twilight, when the sun, not quite yet fallen behind the hills, softened the angular edges of her figure. The last rays of sunlight glinting off her raven curls, skimming over the curve of her hip as she lay on her side, reading. Light highlighting her brow, furrowed in concentration as she pretended not to notice his eyes on her, glinting off the gloss of her lips as she finally smirked and met his gaze.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know. You can stop trying to memorize what I look like.” Yennefer’s voice, as imperious as ever, nonetheless had a playful tone, and he grunted, sitting down at the foot of the chaise, swatting her feet, stretched languidly, to the side.

The witcher’s breath stopped steaming as he sat down, the air around him as warm as in summer, and he shook his head disbelievingly, marvelling at the micro-climate the sorceress had created around her.

“I could have used a spell like this on the Path.” Reaching out, he could feel the exact moment his hand passed through the invisible barrier, the cold biting at his fingertips. When he pulled them back, the snowflakes that had collected on his skin melted immediately, cool water running over his palm and down the sleeve of his jerkin. “Or when I was crossing Mount Gorgon with Regis and…”

His voice trailed off, lost in the cold winter air that hovered just outside their small bubble, an oasis of green amidst the encroaching white. Humming quietly, perhaps in agreement or solidarity, she didn’t look up from her book, but her fingers snaked through his and she squeezed his hand softly, the soft pad of her thumb running soothingly along the back of his hand.

Sighing deeply, he let his eyes drift shut, trying to push back at the distant memories looming over him, focusing on the feeling of her small hand in his.

He could feel the bony joints of her fingers, the stiffness in them, the uneven places where they had bent, broken. She never complained, but he knew the ache that rose up in them was part of why she hated the cold, why she spent so much energy on trivial spells like this one. Opening his eyes, he looked down at her hand in his lap, needing a reminder that the damage done was in the past.

There was blood, clotted red over the mess of her fingers, staring at him in accusation, running down her thin wrists, trailing through the groove of her lifeline. And then it was gone, leaving only the clean white of her smooth skin.

Breath catching in his throat, the witcher quickly looked away again, not wanting to remember Vilgefortz, how he had Yen trussed up in dimeritium, how he hurt her. Not wanting to think about his time here, in Toussaint, with Fringilla Vigo while she shivered in her cell. Breathing in deeply, he let his eyes wander over the distant horizon, letting the setting sun warm his face, letting the scent of lilac and gooseberries comfort him as the sorceress placed down her book and sat up, wrapping her arms around him.

“No,” she whispered, “don’t do that. Let’s just have a nice evening, together.” He felt the cool press of her lips against his neck before she buried her face in his shoulders. He brought an arm up around her, holding her close.

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

Yennefer slept with a lit candle by her side of the bed, and its flame cast flickering shadows on the far wall. On nights like tonight, when he couldn’t sleep, Geralt would watch them dance, his mind making them into figures he recognized.

Sometimes he could see Ciri, her sword _Zireael_ flashing in her hand as she kept monsters at bay. The sight, though simply an imagination, always made him smile, watching her protect her adoptive mother from creatures in the surrounding darkness.

Other times, he would see faceless monsters – those he had killed, those he would kill – looming over her, grinning as razor claws or dripping fangs inched towards her alabaster skin. On those nights he would keep vigil until the sun rose, one hand on the silver blade he hid beneath his pillow, ready to kill anything that came too close.

Most nights, however, the shadows held no danger. Instead, he would see the threat in the way her forehead screwed up, how her lips turned pale as they pressed together tightly, how her fingernails curled into the silk sheets or the meat of his arm. Tonight he heard it in the whimper that escaped her, a weak, frightened sound he knew she would be ashamed of were she awake.

She never spoke about her nightmares, it simply wasn’t her way of dealing with things. When the witcher asked her about them, her violet eyes would darken, close off, and she would snap at him before turning away. He loved her, he would always love her, and he knew that if she did anything else, if she opened up to him, she wouldn’t be the person he loved, but it still hurt to see her push him away.

Despite this, he could imagine what she would be seeing behind her closed eyelids. Bonhart coming ever closer, a lewd smile on his face as he ordered the guards to hold her down. Rience, his face burnt and disfigured, clamping a metal contraption over her hands, laughing as he tightened the screws, delighting in her screams.

Dining with her captors, struggling to hold ornate cutlery and attempting to maintain her dignity as they told her her daughter and lover were dead.

The cold eyes of the Lodge as she begged for vindication before heading to her death.

The sorceress flinched when Geralt touched her shoulder, reaching to shake her awake. She curled in on herself, mumbling nonsensically, pleading with an invisible enemy. Grasping her wrist, he pulled her into him, muffling her screams in his chest as he pressed his mouth to the top of her head, and whispered soothingly, letting her feel the vibrations of his words, his slow, distinctive witcher’s heartbeat, which he knew calmed her.

Eventually she pushed gently, insistently, away from him, extricating herself from his embrace before kissing him gently, whispering a thank you against his lips. She got up, and he could hear a splash as she used the water in the basin to wash the dried tears from her face.

When she came back she pushed him back onto his side of the bed and growled something about how he took up all the space, but she didn’t complain when Geralt rested one hand on her hip before falling asleep.

* * *

Grumbling to himself, Geralt rubbed his hands together vigorously, trying to return some warmth to his numbed fingers. Kicking the snow from his boots on the door frame, he stepped over the threshold into the house, closing the door behind him before shaking the snowflakes from her hair. An amused chuckle drifted over from a corner of the dining room, where small lights hovered before Yennefer’s fingertips, stringing themselves along the wall.

“You couldn’t have done that before you got inside?” Finishing her work, she stepped back to admire it before walking over to the witcher, studying him with sharp eyes. “Look at you, you look like a wet dog. Come here.” Taking his hands in her own, she summoned a small amount of magic, smirking as she watched Geralt’s eyes almost flutter shut as the heat thawed his fingers. When she went to turn away, his fingers closed around hers, holding her in place.

“You’re beautiful, Yen.” The gold of his eyes shone, reflecting the lights strewn along the walls, as he gazed at her earnestly. Allowing herself a small smile, the sorceress pulled one hand away, bringing it up to brush her fingertips against the rough stubble of his cheek.

“Yes, yes I am. You, however, could use a bit of work. Go on, go freshen up a little, I’ve already picked out some clothes for you, they’re laying on the bed.” Biting gently at her lip, she eyed him critically before shaking her head. “I’ll have BB bring up some hot water for a bath as well, you’re in desperate need of it.”

Geralt didn’t move, simply raising an eyebrow at her in challenge before leaning down to capture her lips with his. Yennefer kissed back, fiercely, quickly, before pushing him away, her hands falling to her hips.

“Don’t think that that’s going to make me change my mind. Go. Ciri will be here soon.”

“I don’t think Ciri is going to care what I look like. Besides, she’s been on the Path for the past few months, I highly doubt she’ll be walking in here all dressed up herself.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Yennefer responded, smiling. “Ellander wasn’t quite that long ago.”

Giving up, the witcher started making his way up the stairs, all the while shaking his head in exasperation. When, shortly after, the splash as he made his way into the tub was followed by a groan of pleasure, the smirk on Yennefer’s face was softer than usual.

* * *

“Isn’t it supposed to be warmer here?”

Cold wind rushed through the doorway as a young women stepped inside, snowflakes billowing inside before she stepped in, stamping her boots, and closed the door behind her, silencing the howl of the storm outside. Smiling, Geralt got up from the dining room table, where he had been sorting bushels of dried herbs into neat bundles bound with twine.

“That’s what they told me too. Apparently this has been the harshest winter in several decades.” The witcher gathered her into a close hug, the snow mixed into her ashen hair soaking his beard. “Welcome home, Ciri.”

Ciri sighed happily, wrapping her mittened hands about his waist and squeezing tightly before pulling back with a quiet chuckle.

“It’s good to be home.” Sighing happy, she looked around as she removed her cloak, draping it over one of the high-backed dining chairs. “Did Mother do all this?”

Soft white lights were strung all around the main room, held up by magic, casting a fuzzy glow on the needles of a fir tree standing in the far corner of the room. Small parcels wrapped in colourful paper lay half-covered beneath its branches, partially illuminated by the fire crackling in the hearth, which kept the room filled with light despite the quickly setting sun. Smiling, the witcher began to gather the herbs from the table, brushing dried leaves from the ornate table cloth onto the floor and making sure none had gotten into any of the three table settings that had been carefully placed.

“I have no idea what’s gotten into her, she’s been busy preparing this for days. I’ve prepared these for you so you’ll have some supplies when you leave, I’ll help you pack them into your saddlebags later. You should go find Yen, she was worried when you didn’t show up before this storm hit.”

“And he kept telling me that would be alright.” Yennefer seemed to glide down the stairs, the black velvet of her dress trailing behind her. Head cocked to one side, a mischievous smirk turned up the corner of her lips, “how does it feel to be right for once, dear?”

Ciri snorted and the sorceress turned to face her, striding over as her expression suddenly became all business. “Come here, my ugly one, let me see you.” Smoothing a lock of hair behind the young woman’s ear, she smiled softly before pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her voice was a whisper, as if some closely guarded secret only meant to be heard by her daughter, and the other woman grinned, breathing in the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

“Me too.”

Instructing Geralt to check that the horses were properly sheltered and taken care of for the evening, Yennefer dragged Ciri upstairs, heating the water in the tin basin with a murmured word and a flick of her wrist before gesturing for the witcheress to undress and step in. As she did so, the raven-haired sorceress busied herself organising glass bottles of perfume and ceramic jars of ointments, laying out a horse-hair brush and a soft towel by the tub before moving to rifle through the wardrobe.

Ciri sighed as she lowered herself into the hot water, feeling warmth knead at her knotted muscles. Removing the leather thong from her hair, she let the long tendrils drape across the naked skin of her back, leaning back and closing her eyes.

Soft fingers stroked along her shoulder blade, gently feeling out the long gash from a fiend’s claw. Warmth flowed across her skin, and she held her breath against the dull pain as the skin knitted itself back together. She heard a tired sigh behind her.

“It was only a shallow cut, you didn’t need to do that.” Yennefer didn’t respond, silently picking up the brush and settling beside the tub to run it through the young woman’s hair. “Mother, stop.” Reaching out, Ciri laid a hand across the sorceress’ arm, stilling her movements. “What’s going on? Geralt told me you’ve been busy preparing for days. You don’t believe in any of the gods or their holidays, you were always telling Mother Nenneke that, it bothered her to no end. It’s just Yule, there’s been plenty of them before and you’ve never decorated a tree or orchestrated a family dinner. And now you’re wasting your magic on trivial injuries like that one. Is everything alright?”

Pursing her lips, Yennefer examined an abrasion on Ciri’s arm disapprovingly. “You’re so much like Geralt,” she said finally, violet eyes narrowed as she studied the young woman for other injuries, “God knows I tried my best, but you were already a wild thing by the time I got to you. You’d forgotten everything Calanthe had taught you, and for awhile I thought maybe I could teach you again, but then…” Voice trailing off she brought a hand up to her daughter’s cheek, her thumb running across the scar that ran through it.

“I think I turned out alright.” Smiling slightly, Yennefer shook her head.

“Of course you did, but that’s not what I mean. You and Geralt, both of you grew up with a sword in one hand, hacking and slashing at anything and everything. You forget about some things, things like this. The kind of things families do.” When she didn’t continue, Ciri turned around to face her, emerald eyes serious. Yennefer’s face was as composed as ever, not a hair out of place, but the young woman thought she understood nonetheless.

This was the holiday that the sorceress had never had as a child, that she had been unable to give Ciri as a child. It was a symbol of another life, one that, in retirement, she finally had the chance to reach.

Rather than say any of that Ciri reached out of the tub, pulling Yennefer into a tight hug even as she reprimanded her for getting her dress wet.

“But you remember.” She mumbled into her mother’s dark curls. Settling down, the sorceress sighed slightly in defeat before hugging the ashen-haired woman back.

“But I remember.”

* * *

Later, the three of them sat before the fire as the wind howled outside, Geralt leaned over Ciri, half asleep between them, to press a kiss to Yennefer’s head, humming contentedly as he breathed in the smell of her perfume. Violet eyes fluttering, she looked up from where she had been leaning against her daughter’s shoulder and smiled softly at him.

“You know, Yen?”

“Mhmm.”

“Times like this, it makes the rest of it seem worth it.”

Laughing quietly, she leaned around and kissed him gently, allowing the witcher to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

“This is unlike you.”

“What is?”

“Being right twice in one day.”


End file.
